


Time and Time Again

by SandyQuinn



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Amnesiac Bill Cipher, F/M, Gen, Implied Past Billford, M/M, Post-Gravity Falls, also featuring, and oc stanford and stanley as the mystery twins: classic edition, regular rich girl pacifica!, soos running the mystery shack!, that's it just wendy, very weird stanbill, weird stuff going on!, wendy!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 07:27:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6895447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandyQuinn/pseuds/SandyQuinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the Pineses return to Gravity Falls, everything weird just kind of takes off again. At least the summer won't be boring. </p><p>Amnesiac!Bill AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Z Hfmmb Wzb

The mist was so thick it felt like it could choke the life out of you.

Stanford could hear his brother shuffling around on the deck. The eerie, dead silence amplified all the sounds, up to the point where his own heartbeat sounded like a steady hum in his ears, especially now that they’d turned off the ship’s engine. He stared into the white emptiness, stared until his eyes hurt, but the boat swayed gently on the still water, and everything remained unchanged.

Stanley plopped down next to him.

“So,” his brother drawled, too loud, in Stanford’s ears.

“I don’t know,” Stanford answered, tensely. “It could just be a weather thing.”

“Sixer, it’s _never_ the weather thing.”

The silence was really – too much silence. Granted, they were somewhere in the Southern Ocean, no land in sight for miles, but still. It was intuition – the kind Stanford had developed on the Other Side, the kind that made his heart beat funny, and the tips of his fingers itch. Something was off.

“It’s just mist,” he said. “And we’re not moving, so there’s not much chance we’re going to hit anything. Let’s just – let’s just lay low and wait. It can’t last forever.”

“I’m not worried about forever, I’m worried about getting back in time,” Stanley grunted. “The kids, Ford – they’ll be coming in three weeks. Ya sure we got enough time to get back?”

“If my calculations are correct –“

“ _If my calculations are correct_ ,” Stanley mimicked, mockingly. “Just say _yes_ , Sixer.”

Stanford reached out, blindly, for Stanley’s vague shape and found his shoulder, squeezed lightly. “Yes, Sixer,” he said, and then, “god, you’re insufferable.”

Stanley barked out a laugh. “You know you love me.”

Stanford smiled, vaguely, because he did, and Stanley didn’t, or at least, he didn’t used to.

But things were different now. It had been months – and he was finally starting to get used to the idea. Everything was different and it was good.

They fell silent for a moment, companionable, and Stanford listened as his brother’s breathing matched his, as the waves brushed, whispering, against the sides of the ship, and stared into the white mist once again. Trying to focus on nothing hurt his eyes, but he couldn’t help himself – he felt like an old guard dog, standing in attention against invisible burglars. It just felt – _off_. It was too silent. Too empty. It was like they were the only two people left on Earth.

Not a bad thought, exactly, but unsettling.

“So, hey,” Stanley breathed out, because he felt it too, and he reacted impulsively, trying to fill the void. “We’ve seen plenty of beaches, right?”

“Right,” Stanford said, warily, because Stanley could spring a dirty joke on you even while pelting a sixty-foot squid with canned beans, let alone while sitting and at ease.

“And that time in Hawaii – we _did_ technically find a sunken ship and a treasure. I mean, it was in a chest. A real old-timey chest. With like – lil barnacles stuck to it.”

“It was shoes, Stanley. It was more perplexing than grandiose.”

“Well, I mailed one to Mabel and she bedazzled it – never mind. What I’m saying is – what I’m getting at here is, we’ve done the beaches, we’ve done the treasures, and what’s left is – “

“Oh _no_ –“

“ _The_ _babes_ , Sixer!”

Stanford huffed, turning to squint at his brother’s vague shape, and even then, _even then_ , he could tell Stanley was smirking like an idiot. “Really, Ley? What are you expecting, _mermaids_? Sirens? The real ones would try to eat you!”

He immediately regretted his choice of words.

Stanley paused for a moment. 

“ _Well_ then,” he said, practically purring. 

“We’re _sixty-two_!” Stanford exclaimed indignantly, over Stanley’s raucous laughter, their voices echoing around them and filling the silence, and for a moment he felt warm and distracted, grinning despite himself –

\- and in the corner of his eye, he saw it, the glowing golden eye, coming at him straight out of his nightmares before it disappeared and the whole thing loomed above them, a vague, enormous shape so close as if it had suddenly materialized out of thin air. Stanley had better reflexes as he sprung up to his feet – Stanford was still frozen at the sight of what now felt like a hallucination, before his mind snapped back to present.

There was an iceberg floating in an almost unnaturally speedy manner towards their boat, and Stanley was trying to start the engine to get them out of the way. Stanford grabbed one of the oars, and made a desperate dash to the side of the boat – the giant block of ice was moving, so it wasn’t completely out of the bounds of reality to at least slow it down before it barrelled into them.

Stanley shouted something that sounded like expletives, and Stanford propped himself desperately against the side, held the oar like a knight facing a challenger, and then thrusted it forward – it connected with something heavy, big enough to knock him flat on his back on the deck, and he heard a loud, crackling bang.

The world felt strange again – it was like tingling, from his eye sockets to his gums, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe, like there was no air for his lungs. He closed his eyes.

Stanford was prepared for the rush of icy water: but the engine hummed to life, and he felt them moving. He sat up, panting quietly, adjusted his glasses, and touched the arm that was definitely bruising, the oar lying next to him.

He stood up, slowly.

The mist was evaporating quickly, and he could see Stanley, coming over, blinking just as owlishly as Stanford. 

The water was flat and still all around them, horizon empty wherever they turned. No icebergs in sight. But Stanford’s arm ached – there was a definite crack on the oar.

“That’s it,” Stanley said. “The babes have had their last chance. I’m hauling our equally attractive asses back home.”

*

The sun was barely up, filtering past the trees, creating little pockets of shadows and light. Stanley navigated the uneven road between the trees with ease, humming under his breath. The car was packed so full that Stanford was hunching on the passenger seat with his laptop bag, practically hugging it against his chest.

“Are you _sure_ we have enough presents for everyone?” he asked sarcastically, shifting as a bulging back-bag tried to creep on his territory from the backseat. He knew for a fact that it was full of candy, and he was planning to hide it before Stanley could just throw it at the twins.

“Ha ha, laugh it up, pointdexter,” Stanley said, keeping his eyes on the road. “Just ya wait and see who’s gonna be the favourite grunkle. We’ll see who makes snide lil comments then!” He paused. “Probably you. Alone. In the corner.”

Stanford considered pointing out they’d bought most of their souvenirs with his money – but then again, he would’ve been completely at loss as to what to buy if it weren’t for Stanley. The past year had been the strongest memory left in Stanley’s head, so he’d accounted for every detail with loving attention, down to Mabel’s shoe size and Dipper’s ice cream preferences. He didn’t mind Stanley taking the credit for finding the perfect snow-globe.

They drove past a figure walking away from the Shack – for a moment, Stanford made uncomfortable eye-contact with sunken, benevolent eyes. He thought he could see tattoos criss-crossing all over the man’s bare scalp.

“Was that a banjo?” Stanley said. “Ugh. Soos better not be attracting some weirdoes to my Shack –“

“His Shack,” Stanford reminded gently. “And, uh. I’m really not sure your clientele consisted of anything _else_ , Ley, you were showing off taxidermied animals glued together.“

“Is that a new sign?” Stanley demanded, slowing down.

It was, indeed, a new sign, standing out mostly because it was clean and not weathered by time – and it had clearly been put together by someone with some artistic talent, considering the craftsmanship on the lettering. It was also suspiciously glittery.

“I think Mabel is already here,” Stanford said optimistically.

Stanley squinted. “’Welcome… to the Mystery Shack’. Hah! Beginner tactics!”

“Welcoming people?”

“It’s too _eager_ ,” Stanley sneered, tilting his chin proudly. “You gotta make ‘em feel like – like they’re coming to visit just to spite you!”

“You know,” Stanford looked at his brother. “This explains so much about you.”

“And then there’s some nonsense letters! What’s that supposed to even be? A code?”

Stanford leaned against the dashboard, squinting to take a look – but Stanley started driving again, so all he caught was the glimpse of smaller letters carved to the bottom of the sign, jumbled up in a way that felt like a strange, familiar tug in the pit of his stomach.

The Shack finally came in sight, and they drove up to the yard, a few cars and a bus already parked there, small groups of tourists standing around. Soos had obviously taken down a couple of trees to make more room for a bigger parking space. It appeared that business was, despite Stanley’s raised eyebrows, booming.

They got (or in Stanford’s case, fell alongside three bags of souvenirs) out of the car. Stanley inhaled the air like he’d never breathed before in his life, stretching out, and despite his grumbling, his face practically lit up as they examined the surroundings: the newly renovated Shack, the good old totem pole, the bottomless pit, the two thirteen-year-olds approaching them fast, one of them emanating an exponentially rising high-pitched noise.

“Grunkle Stan!” Mabel screeched, taking a running leap and apparently putting all her faith in Stanley, who caught her, and then Dipper, who’d tried to go for his shins – for a moment Stanford was left standing there awkwardly before the spinning and laughing generational Pines tornado came his way, Mabel’s arm wrapping around his neck, Dipper’s laughing face muffled by his midsection.

“You’re back!” Mabel exclaimed with breathless, bouncy glee, squeezing Stanford’s head tightly. “You’re back, you’re back, _you’re back_! Dipper, they’re –“

“Back?” Dipper suggested, grinning, and Stanley tousled his hair roughly.

“Grunkle Stan, you have a beard!” Mabel squeaked. “So _rakish_! And you fixed your glasses, Grunkle Ford!”

“Well, they fell into the sea, so –“ Stanford started, muffled by her sweater as Stanley preened.

“Oh, oh, oh!” Dipper perked up, dragging a whole bunch of paper from his pocket. “I solved your puzzles, Grunkle Ford, every single one of them, thanks for the postcards – any chance you could take a look at them –“

“I joined the cheer squad!” Mabel called out over him. “And it’s been _great_ , we got a special mention in the tournament –“

“She’s been campaigning for them all to wear mascot suits,” Dipper said. “Our school mascot’s a raccoon.”

“Just twelve raccoons in a perfectly executed pyramid formation!” Mabel interrupted, eyes shining with unholy determination of a girl on a mission. “Imagine!”

“I am,” Stanley said, grinning, and then picked her up on his shoulder. “You give ‘em hell until they do that in high school as well, sweetie.”

“I would love to take a look at how you did,” Stanford said to Dipper, warmly. “But I think we should probably unpack the car first and get settled in. Stanley, will you –“ He looked up. His brother was already wandering off with their great-niece, apparently starting up a story of such great heroics that Stanford must’ve slept right through those events.

“You should come and say hi to Soos,” Dipper said, smiling up at him. “He’s been doing great – I mean, you have to see it yourself.”

Stanford hesitated. “Well – Soos seems more like _Stanley’s_ friend, so –“ He was startled, only briefly, when Dipper took his hand, pulling him along insistently.

“Trust me. You need to get to know Soos,” Dipper said firmly. “He’s like an _experience_.”

“Well,” Stanford said, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards helplessly, hunching down a little – curling his fingers against Dipper’s smaller, warmer hand, letting his grand-nephew lead him towards the Shack. “If you say so.”

*

The Shack was subtly, but undeniably different. Stanford couldn’t quite put his finger on it – oh, he could spot the differences, such as the different carpets, the new merchandise in the shop section, or the fact that they were playing actual music. Nice music, even – the kind that made you feel at ease, invaded your ears and convinced you to stick around. But there was something _more_ about the way it had changed, just a tiny bit, like a shift in the atmosphere. 

“Hmph,” Stanley said, standing around with his arms crossed over his chest, eyeing the counter critically: there was a bowl of candy next to the cash register. He seemed personally offended.

“Ahah,” said Soos, nervously, standing next to a young woman with a round face and braided hair. “So yeah. Um. We’ve been doing pretty well – we’ve mostly kept everything just the way you left it, Mister Pines. Except. For a few things. A few tiny things.”

“We’ve started tours outside,” the young woman piped up eagerly. “Just in the surroundings and the town – it’s sort of like a treasure hunt, except with like – clues, codes and such. People love it!”

Stanley raised his eyebrow, not saying anything, and gave a critical squint to a couple of customers chatting in the corner.

“We haven’t been introduced,” Stanford put in, awkwardly, when his brother continued to be the social equivalent of a rock. He hesitated, and then held his hand out for the young woman fidgeting next to Soos.

“Oh, hi!” she exclaimed, clearly relieved, taking his hand without even taking a good look at it. “I’m –“

“She’s – “ Soos said at the same time, anxiously.

“I’m – I’m the girlfriend. The, uh, datemate. The partner in crime – no, not that, that’s dumb, ignore that, I’m –“

“The Melody!” Soos finished for her, and then blushed furiously. The two exchanged looks, grinning helplessly. Stanford sort of felt like he was interrupting in the middle of his own introduction.

“I’m the Melody,” she said, then, to Stanford, shaking his hand properly. “Nice to meet you. I’ve been helping Soos run the Shack too. I’ve heard – _so much_ about you two.”

“Nice to meet you, Melody.” Stanford got the distinct impression she wasn’t kidding. He glanced at Stanley, rolled his eyes, and then elbowed him.

“What – oh!” Stanley grunted, looking sort of begrudging. “What’s with the clientele, Soos?”

“What do you mean, Mister Pines?” Soos asked, blinking.

“The –“ Stanley jerked his thumb at the young women standing by the t-shirt racks. “The customers. They look normal – no, they look _hip_! How did you – I mean, what happened to the usual sorry sacks and lost tourists?”

“Oh, they’re still here!” Soos said eagerly. “Y’know, around. We haven’t given up on the traditional stuff, we’ve just added a few extra things me and Melody thought up, y’know, to try things out, and, uh, turns out Melody is really good at marketing and making web-sites – “

“And Soos appears to be some kind of a folk legend,” Melody added fondly. "They build a statue." 

“So uh, we’re like. An internet sensation or something. Go figure, am I right?” Soos said, shrugging his shoulders good-naturedly.

“Well,” Stanley grunted, and then relented, his scowl clearing out. “It’s not exactly what I used to do – “

“My shoes don’t stick to the floor anymore,” Stanford muttered under his breath.

“ _But_ I think you’ve done real well here, Soos,” Stanley continued primly, disregarding his brother. “Real well – look at ya, racking up those visitors! And you didn’t get any trouble from the other tourist traps?”

“Nope!” Soos declared proudly. “They did come over one day, with like, a _bunch_ of gasoline, but we all had a nice chat –“

“What,” Stanley said blankly.

“ – had some Pitt-Cola, threw some darts –“

“ _No_ ,” Stanley said, sounding betrayed.

“- I friended them on Facebook – anyway, we’re all good now! Oh, and this lady said to tell you hi, Mister Pines.” Soos winked. “She said she can’t _wait_ to hang you up again.”

“I think she meant hang out,” Melody said, thoughtfully.

“Ahahaha,” Stanley said.

Stanford opened his mouth to ask more – because so far in their travels Stanley had attracted two werewolves and what he suspected had been a 400-year-old poltergeist in a wig – when his brother was saved by the noise as two pre-teens pounded down the stairs.

“Oh my gosh – Soos, _Soos_!” Mabel barely skidded to halt, and Dipper didn’t even manage that much as he ran into her, sending them both barrelling into Soos who barely budged.

“Hey dudes!” Soos said, perking up noticeably as he steadied the twins. “You got a look at your new digs yet?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Mabel said, her eyes shining with blissful glee, barely coherent. “It’s so good – Soos, I mean – it’s so beautiful – a craft table – “

“You got me my own blackboard!” Dipper piped in, sounding a little choked up.

“Grunkle Stan, he put our names on the beds!”

“He got us actual mattresses!”

“Well, I mean –“ And Soos scratched the back of his head, looking torn between pleased and awkward. “Listen, it’s like, totally up to you and all, but I’m planning to let Mr. Pines and, uh – Mr. Pines bunk here wherever they like, so like – it’d be totally cool with me if you kept on visiting. I mean. You dudes totally have a place to stay here. Always.” He glanced at Melody, furtively, and she reached out, taking the hand that Mabel wasn’t hanging onto.

The whole shop exploded with noise as the twins started talking simultaneously, swearing up and down how they were going to visit every summer and steal away in the dead of night if they had to. Soos looked beside himself with emotions, scooping the kids up in a hug, and Stanford caught his brother trying to wipe his eyes furtively.

“Dagnabit,” Stanley muttered roughly. “Doesn’t anyone dust around here anymore?”

Stanford smiled, put his arm around Stanley’s shoulders and fished out a handkerchief. “It’s spring,” he said. “Could be the allergies.”

“What’re ya lookin’ at?” Stanley glowered at a teenager who’d stopped to stare what all the noise was about.

“Uh, a gross sobbing old man?”

Stanford smiled, feeling the kind of zen-like peace he hadn’t felt in years, as he held onto Stanley’s shoulders tightly, and flashed the knife tucked into his belt, making the kid scamper away hastily. He really felt like he’d finally come back home.

“Soos?” he said, over the noise. “Please call me Stanford.”

*

It was actually hours later, when Stanford finally managed to get back outside and to the car. The tourist bus was gone – it had been replaced by three other cars, and Stanford couldn’t help but admire the traffic Soos was generating. The place actually looked half-respectable. 

He watched two young boys cross the lawn, and for a moment he was unwittingly reminded of the time it had been covered in deep, scorched claw marks, when the sky curving above their heads had been a bleeding red, not blue. Like a snowball gaining momentum, his mind flashed back to that nauseating second at the sea, when he thought he’d seen the eye again, and he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, hands on the car, and focused to steady himself.

Stanford knew this’d keep happening, because it had _happened_ , over the past year – in some distant location, while lying in his bunk in the boat, even in the middle of a storm– and sometimes he’d fought through it and sometimes he’d been so convinced, so _sure_ of himself, that it had taken everything in Stanley’s arsenal to calm him down again. All he could do was breathe, listen to the murmur of conversation, the trees rustling above his head and the birds chirping, and remember that Bill was dead. 

He opened his eyes to a bright, sunny day in Oregon, forced himself to smile because it made him aware of his body, and opened the car door.

“- no, it’s my turn to hold it!”

He glanced in the direction of the two kids who’d wandered to the edge of the woods, disinterested. The boys, perhaps nine or ten, were huddling together, arguing loudly, one of them holding something between his hands. He turned to haul their laundry bag out of the backseat. Marinating in a hot car for a couple of hours, it had started to develop an interesting aroma. 

“You’re just gonna bury it,” one of the boys said accusingly. “You always bury everything. Let me have it first, I wanna show it to Suzy –“

“No way! This is _our_ secret!” 

It occurred to Stanford that they might have caught a gnome, or a fairy. He frowned – on the other hand, it’d serve the two rascals right if they got bitten, but fairies produced a fairly strange toxin that could raise some questions. Perhaps even hinder Soos’ budding enterprise.

He sighed, dropped the bag onto the lawn, and turned to march over to the boys.

“What have we got here, chaps?” he asked briskly, clasping his hands behind his back, as he got closer. One of the boys – a baseball cap turned aside, completely defeating its purpose – looked guilty, while the other, missing two of his front teeth, merely scowled.

“None of your business!” he challenged, clutching something tightly between his hands. Stanford could barely make out something brown and shapeless.

“We found it,” the baseball cap put in, nervously. “In the woods, not here – it’s like – it’s like a new species or something!”

“Really now,” Stanford asked, arching his eyebrow gamely. “Well – lucky for you, I happen to have a PhD in Biology. How about you two let me have a look, and be the judge of this – new species.”

The gap-tooth hesitated, but his friend nudged him, turning to clasp his wrists. “C’mon – show him. Maybe we get to name it!”

"Could very well be possible," Stanford lied, graciously. The gap-tooth seemed to warm up a little, nevertheless. 

The boy brought his hands up, gingerly, and then opened them, revealing a shapeless, brown block of Play-Doh, and stuck in it was –

Stanford reared his head back, sharply, actually staggering away a couple of steps. On the boy’s hand, Bill Cipher blinked at him once, and then wriggled his teeny-tiny limbs, inside the play-clay.

“Mister?” one of the boys asked – but his voice sounded like it was coming somewhere far away, and Stanford’s heart was beating so hard in his chest that it hurt, and he didn’t have his gun, he didn’t even remember where he’d _put_ his gun. He realized he was panting, his fingers curled tightly around the handle of his knife, as he came to, the two boys looking genuinely alarmed by now, wide-eyed, one of them still holding the small, docile triangle on his hand as if he was _harmless_.

“ _Give him to me_!” Stanford snapped, holding out his hand – and he must have sounded pretty serious, because the gap-tooth deposited Bill and the Play-Doh on his palm hastily and without argument, backing away.

“Never mention this to _anyone_ ,” Stanford managed to say, and he couldn’t help the hint of growl in his voice – he turned around, his mind buzzing with questions, his legs starting to shake as the tension he hadn’t felt in months suddenly returned, and stalked towards the house without a second glance.

*

He didn’t know what to do. Upon entering the house, he heard Soos and Stanley and the twins in the kitchen, their voices bright and homely, and he shied away, like a wild animal: finally making his way to the upstairs bathroom, holding Bill between his cupped hands.

He could feel a sharp edge poking his palm, the soft thrum of power through the Play-Doh, and he didn’t know what to _do_.

Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, Stanford took a deep breath, and then another, and then slowly, reluctantly, opened his hands again.

Bill – smaller than the width of his palm – peered up at him with a bright, curious look.

“What are you doing here?” Stanford asked, hoarsely, trying to keep his voice down. “Why are you here? You’re a sore loser – you’re _pathetic_ , if you think you can intimidate us.” He paused, swallowing. “We got rid of you before, we can do it again.”

Bill paused, and then squirmed – with an obvious struggle, he pulled an arm free, and waved up at Stanford.

Stanford stared.

“Bill?” he asked, uncertainly.

A knock on the door startled him so that he nearly dropped Bill, and Stanford sprung up to his feet.

“Sixer?” Stanley called out. “You in there? The kids are about to go see McGucket.”

“I’m –“  _cradling my arch-nemesis in my palms_. Stanford swallowed, looking around wildly, trying to decide what to do. He squeezed Bill tightly, and the triangle made a sound suspiciously similar to a squeaky toy. “I’m coming, give me just a – just a – “

For one, wild second, Stanford considered simply flushing Bill down the toilet.

He paused, taking a deep breath, standing in the middle of the familiar bathroom, trying to clear his thoughts. There were new shower curtains, pastel green, and Soos had an electric toothbrush, with a little superhero figurine holding it upright.

Everything was fine. He was being silly. Things were different now. He wasn’t on the Other Side, trying desperately to survive: he had family now. He had his brother. They would deal with this, together. Why was he hiding? 

Stanley pushed the door open, abruptly, nearly knocking into Stanford, who reacted by flinching – and promptly dropping Bill into the open toilet bowl with an audible splash and a little squeak, cut off abruptly.

“It’s Bill!” he blurted out intelligently, eyes wide, wheeling around to face his brother.

Stanley stared at him for a moment, and then peered into the toilet.

“Please tell me that didn’t come out of you,” he said, his voice hollow.

“Oh _god_ , we need a plunger,” Stanford said.

*

Stanford locked the door of his old office, after some inner debate. He didn’t think he could explain this to Soos, let alone the twins, if they were to barge in. He could only thank himself for the fact that his office was windowless. 

Stanley sat, massaging the bridge of his nose, at Stanford’s old desk, which had been cleared of papers and books ages ago. Bill was on the table – Stanley had painstakingly freed him from the Play-Doh after they’d fished him out of the toilet bowl, and right now, he just – sat there. Occasionally Bill would look up, and blink at Stanley slowly, with that same, bright-eyed wonder he was regarding everything. Stanford was unnerved.

“What do you think is wrong with him?” Stanley asked. “Why isn’t he talking?”

“He could be faking it,” Stanford said distractedly. He was rummaging through a pile of books Soos had simply left in the corner of the room, stacked on top of each other. He’d intended to spend weeks sorting through all of them, slowly and meticulously separating what to keep and what to throw away – now he was just tossing them over his shoulder, one after another, after flipping through them. “He was always a good actor. What I don’t understand is – how he would’ve managed to come back at all, let alone in a physical body –“

“It’s a real small body,” Stanley said, frowning thoughtfully. “Must’ve not taken as much effort.” He paused, and then started digging through his pockets.

“That’s not the point!” Stanford snapped. “It’s – it should be impossible! He shouldn’t be here at all!”

“Hey, Ford,” Stanley said. “Check this out.”

Stanford wheeled around, clutching an old tome against his chest: Stanley put a single gold coin on the table carefully, a few inches away from Bill.

Bill looked at Stanley, and then at the coin, and then shuffled onto his feet, padding unsteadily to it. As they watched, the tiny triangle bent down, and managed to hoist the coin up, holding it over his body triumphantly.

Then the weight of it seemed to get too much, and Bill fell slowly backwards onto the table. Stanley chortled.

“Dumbass,” he said, almost fondly. “Get it? The coin’s too heavy for him –“

“This isn’t a joke!” Stanford snapped. He was starting to feel like he was going to vibrate out of his skin. “Ley – I’m serious. This is bad, he shouldn’t be here, we got rid of him –“

“Okay, okay,” Stanley said, standing up, holding his hands up, palms bared. “Let’s settle down, bro – deep breaths for me, all right? Listen, it’s fine, look at him –“

Stanford opened his mouth again indignantly.

“ _Even_ if he’s faking it, you think he’d actually show up like that if he had a choice?” Stanley asked, a steely glint in his eyes. “He’d come back, and, I don’t know, I don’t remember what he did –“

“What _didn’t_ he do,” Stanford mumbled. Stanley held his hands up again, soothingly.

“What I’m getting here is, if this is a scam, the size has nothing to do with it.” He paused. “Although I think he’s genuine.”

“But it’s not _possible_ ,” Stanford repeated, for what felt like the hundredth time, wishing against all odds that his words could alter reality.

“You know what else wasn’t possible?” Stanley asked. “Me getting my memories back. Listen – if some of them came back, who’s to say – _some_ of him didn’t come back as well?”

On the table, Bill stood up again, stayed still for a moment, and then apparently lost his balance, arms windmilling, before he flopped back down again.

“So what you’re suggesting here,” Stanford said slowly. “Is some kind of – amnesia. For Bill Cipher. A creature older than our galaxy. That’s a lot to forget.”

Stanley shrugged. “Hey, I don’t know how these things work – but to me he doesn’t really seem like himself, does he?”

Stanford looked down at Bill again. The little triangle was now playing with the leftover Play-Doh, patting a tiny chunk of it into a ball.

“I’m going to bind him anyway,” he said. “Once I find the right book. I’m not taking any chances.”

Stanley shrugged, and sat back down. “Fair enough, too. I’ll keep an eye on the lil critter, while you do that.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “Ya think he’d eat a Tic-Tac?”

“Don’t feed him,” Stanford said sternly.

“What, is this like, a gremlin thing?”

“A what now?” Stanford blinked.

“The – wait, never mind, it’s a pop culture reference. Surprised I remember it myself,” Stanley grunted, and then dug into his pocket again. “I’m going to give him a Tic-Tac.”

Bill looked up, and then held out his tiny hands, holding the Play-Doh ball out to Stanford. He looked expectant - eager, even. 

The twins exchanged looks, mutely, before Stanford approached the table gingerly: Stanley picked Bill up, holding him out to Stanford. He reached out, and plucked the ball out of Bill’s hands.

Stanford swallowed – he _really_ didn’t know how to deal with this.

“…Thank you?” he said hesitantly.

“Yer welcome!” Bill piped up brightly.

The simultaneous alarmed yelps that escaped from the twins would have probably alerted rest of the household, if Stanford’s office wasn’t soundproofed.

“Ah!” Bill yelped and wrapped his arms around Stanley’s thumb to stay put.

“ _All right_ –“ Stanley snapped, colour rising to his cheek, snatching Bill up by his little top hat. “What’s going on here? What do you remember?”

“Remember?” Bill squeaked, his little legs pumping the air. “Who’re you?”

“You –“ Stanford hesitated. “What’s your name?”

“I dunno!” Bill said brightly. “Is it Eewwhat’sthat?”

“…No,” Stanley said. He looked strangely uncomfortable, glancing at Stanford. “It’s – uh – “

Stanford shook his head hastily – who knew what would happen if Bill got into possession of his true name? Stanley grimaced at him, and for a moment they engaged in silent conversation.

“B- no, uh – it’s –“ Stanley seemed to come into a decision, putting Bill back down onto his palm. “It’s Will. And we’re – buddies.”

“Oh boy!” Bill’s singular eye grew, if possible, even wider – he was practically bouncing up and down on Stanley’s palm. “Will! I like it!”

“And we’re international treasure hunters called Stan and Ford,” Stanley said, apparently warming up to the topic. Stanford stared at him incredulously and Stanley shrugged.

“Yes,” Stanford said, between his teeth. “Treasure hunters. Oh, the babes and beaches that we’ve seen.” He opened the book he’d been holding, flipping it through hastily. “Stan, we need daylight, and I don’t have any chalk up in here anymore –“

He paused. Bill was staring at him – with such intensity it made his skin crawl.

“Am I –“ Bill started, slowly, and Stanford tensed, “am I… a _treasure_?”

Stanford squeezed the tiny Play-Doh ball inside his fist, and stared at Bill. Stanley, next to him, cleared his throat, his expression briefly pained, before he spoke, gamely – Stanford recognized the conman stance at once.

“Sure _are_ ,” Stanley said. “And because of that, we need to keep ya safe and sound. That’s why we need to do a lil spell – isn’t that right, Ford? Like – with chanting and whatnot? How do those things usually work?”

“There’s usually a little chanting, yes,” Stanford said carefully, his mouth dry. “And you need to – you need to cooperate with us, Will.”

“Okay!” Bill said brightly, and then sat down slowly, rubbing his eye. “Can I take a nap first?”

“You need to _rest_?” Stanford asked incredulously. Stanley glared at him, for some reason – and then lifted Bill up carefully, and took off his cap.

“How’sabout you climb up there, hide out under my hat for now?” he asked. “You’ll be safe and sound there.”

“I take lots of naps,” Bill mumbled, apparently getting rapidly sleepier, and shuffled from Stanley’s palm into his hair, flopping in the midst of his grey locks contently.

“See, he takes lots of naps,” Stanley said. He put his cap back on.

“Wow, it’s thinning up here!” Bill called out muffledly.

“Get some sleep!” Stanley ordered. “And it’s not what you think, it’s from mermaids pulling my hair.”  

“I didn’t know you met any mermaids,” Stanford said. He felt like he was rapidly losing the plot altogether.

“I don’t tell you everything,” Stanley said haughtily.

Stanford rubbed the bridge of his nose, took a deep breath, and then squared his shoulders. Stanley’s cap wasn’t moving, but he could hear the tiniest, strangest little noise emanating underneath it. Bill was _snoring_.

“Right,” he said. “Well then. I can’t believe we’re doing this again, but - let’s go defeat Bill Cipher.”

" _After_ he wakes up from his nap," Stanley said. 


	2. Mlg Dszg Sv Hvvnh

The sun shone brightly. The birds chirped. The chalky circle had been drawn on the lawn, the kids were somewhere far away, and errant tourists had been scared away by Stanley who’d threatened to charge them extra for loitering. Stanford took a deep breath of fresh, pine-scented air, and reflected the life that he’d thought had finally gotten to the right tracks. Back on Earth, check. Family still alive, check.

Bill Cipher, eradicated from the universe? Well, almost. They were working on it.

Or at least, he was.

“Hey Sixer, do you think he can get a sunburn?”

“Are you in shock?” Stanford asked. “Is this what this is? Should you go lie down?”

Stanley gave him a dirty look. He was holding Bill between his cupped hands, and Bill was vigorously cramming a biscuit into his eye (“to perk him up after his nap,” Stanley had said, and Stanford was ready to tear his hair out).

“Our little friend _Will_ here sure as hell doesn’t know how to take care of himself,” Stanley said pointedly. “Seeing as he don’t got no memory, smartass. I was just asking since you’re the resident – _triangle_ expert around here. Wink wink.”

“Don’t you _wink wink at me_ \- ”

“What’s a triangle?” Bill asked innocently.

“ _You’re_ a triangle, you lil nugget,” Stanley said, gleefully, prodding Bill gently. Bill, to Stanford’s horror, chortled and tried to bat Stanley’s finger. He could’ve at least tried to tear it off, for his sanity’s sake.

Stanford stared at his brother. He wondered, for God knew how many times by now, whether this Stanley was the right Stanley – whether enough of his memories had been saved for him to continue being the person Stanford used to know. Sometimes he acted right, and Stanford felt comforted, he felt like the world slotted into place, like there was a seamless continuum of what they’d been and what they’d become. Sometimes he did not: and in those times Stanford felt like he was in some kind of a mirror world, a parallel universe, almost but not _exactly_ right, like a hair parted from a wrong spot.

Those moments usually made his nightmares worse. It was his fault, of course. When he’d first gotten his brother back – when Stanley had looked at him with the first spark of recognition – he’d sworn to himself that he’d do anything to keep this. If it meant holding back – if it meant not sharing the most painful memories, watching Stanley become a person with only happiness in his life, so be it.

 “…Ford? Hey? Earth to Sixer?”

Stanford blinked, and then realized he’d vagued off, staring at Stanley’s features – he adjusted his glasses, trying to catch up on what was happening. “I’m sorry, were you saying something?”

Stanley was staring at him. Then he looked down at Bill, who was sitting neatly on his palm. “Look.”

Then he stuck his finger in Bill’s eye (Bill let out a little squeak) and just pushed it in.

“ _Aaa_ ,” Stanford said, because that was all he could manage, and then, without his brain really catching up with his mouth, automatically, “That’s fascinating. Wait, no, Ley, _please_ \- “

“It doesn’t hurt him,” Stanley was grinning as he pushed his finger in to the knuckle. “Look how deep it goes!”

“ _Please stop that immediately_.”

“I could keep a spare pen in there,” Stanley reflected, withdrawing his finger. “Or like a wad of cash –“

“It tickles!” Bill informed them brightly. “You guys sure know how to have fun! What will we do next?”

Stanford took a deep breath, as he tried to get his thoughts in order and that particular mental image out of his head – he couldn’t help but flash back to some of his more youthful, naïve and alarming ideas.

It wasn’t that he’d been a particularly _horny_ young man, per se. It was just that once he started on a train of thought, it was very difficult for him _not_ to lead it through hypotheses, focus groups and a final peer-reviewed thesis, no matter how disturbing the topic matter. It had led to some truly awkward notes which were, inevitably discovered by Fiddleford. He’d given Stanford a wide berth for about a month and then left him a kind pamphlet on human sexuality on the kitchen table.

“The ritual,” he said firmly. “We need to light the candles and place him in the circle to – oh, for crying out loud, Ley –“

“What?” asked Stanley as if he _wasn’t_ juggling Bill and two pine cones and grinning like an idiot. “He likes it!”

“Whee!” said Bill, holding up his teeny tiny hands. “I’m part of this experience!”

A magpie swooped down gracefully, just as Bill was at his highest, and snatched him in its beak.

As they watched, it flew off, high above the trees, a faint hooting still echoing from Bill.

They looked at each other for a moment, in silence. Stanley dropped the pine cones.

“Well,” Stanley started, a little surprised.

“We really shouldn’t bother,” Stanford said immediately, and made a face at himself. He already knew he was going to.

“I guess he’s sort of helpless and junk,” Stanley said. “What with having no memories.”

“I was thinking more of the inevitable doom and destruction that will ensue when he comes to.”

“That too,” and Stanley brightened, to Stanford’s fond irritation. “We don’t really have a choice, do we? We gotta go rescue that lil monster.”

“Yes,” Stanford said, wearily. “Besides, bringing Bill into this world in the first place was my –“

“Big Faustian mistake, pushing the boundaries of science and magic, overwhelming ambition ruling sense, yada yada yada, I’ll go get the knuckledusters,” Stanley said.

“Thank you for summing that up for me,” Stanford said dryly. “I’ll go get the gun.”

“Besides, I already crammed like a _wad_ of twenties in his eye-hole,” Stanley said.

*

As it turned out, “follow that bird!” was a lot more complex than it sounded – something Stanford could have told his brother if said brother had stayed put long enough. As it was, he found himself pushing through the bushes alone like he hadn’t done since he was thirty-two and mapping every inch of Gravity Falls. Somehow, despite the decades spent struggling through much more impressive obstacles, the bushes seemed even _clingier_ than they’d been back in the day. Stanford made a mental note to investigate whether they were sentient somehow.

That, or he was getting older, but that was just _ridiculous_.

“Stanley?” he called out, elbowing a particularly thorny specimen out of his way. “Stanley, where are you?”

Somewhere in the distance, a wheezing cough answered his call, and he sighed.

“Just to be expected, the way you were rushing off –“ he muttered. A branch swung and swatted the back of his head. He stumbled into the clearing, managing to straighten himself at the last minute to make it seem intentional.

Stanley was bent over and wheezing, hands on his knees. Stanford sighed and made his way over to him.

“All right there, Stanley?” he asked, touching his brother’s wide and hunched shoulders, and Stanley nodded stiffly.

“Just got a bit winded – “ Stanley coughed. “Jesus. I’m fine, ‘ve been working out, Sixer –“

“Do you need me to go back and get the girdle?” Stanford asked, genuinely concerned. Stanley had gotten into a much better shape during their months at the sea, but his brother had still spent years in relatively inactivity, unlike Stanford. Sometimes it showed.

“No! And you promised not to call it that, sheesh –“

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Stanford said blandly. “The _man support_. Which, by the way, sounds like some kind of an recreational adult toy –“

“ _You’re_ an adult toy,” Stanley said peevishly. Stanford opened his mouth, and then stopped, looking up. Aside from their bickering, the forest was… quiet. Very quiet.

It was the middle of the day. This deep into the woods, the birds should have been a cacophony of overlapping noises.

He stepped away from Stanley, who was starting to catch his breath, and pulled out his gun, his ears pricking for even the slightest noises, creeping carefully along a path opening between the trees. Stanley, to his credit, followed him without a word, coming behind him like a shadow – and for a brief moment, Stanford revelled in just how _right_ it felt.

The forest continued its eerie silence. And just when Stanford was sure Stanley would open his mouth to make a comment, they heard it – drums, in the distance.

Stanford turned, so that he could catch Stanley’s eye, and Stanley smirked at him.

“Five bucks says it’s teenagers,” Stanley muttered under his breath.

“I say ancient forgotten civilization,” Stanford murmured back. 

Stanley nodded curtly – and they proceeded down along the path.

Gradually, the drumming grew louder, and the woods seemed to grow darker – thick pine trees surrounding them on both sides, enormous toadstools peppering the sides of the path in a way that tickled something in Stanford’s memory. Before them, the path ended, blocked by more bushes – and glinting behind the bushes, Stanford saw firelight. Without looking back, he raised his hand and gestured. He could feel, rather than see, Stanley nodding, and then his brother came beside him, and they approached the bushes together.

“Kids,” Stanley muttered, his voice masked by the drums.

“Descendants of Neanderthals,” Stanford whispered, and pulled out his gun. He counted to three, and then simply swung himself over the bushes.

He landed on soft and saturated moss, rolled up on his feet and pointed his gun before his eyes were even properly focused. Behind him, he heard Stanley trying to tackle his way through the bushes.

About a hundred gnomes froze to stare at him.

“Ah,” Stanford said. Stanley stumbled next to him, in a spray of leaves and muffled cursing.

A few of the gnomes had copious amount of leaves attached to their hats. They had drums, made out of what Stanford suspected were squirrel hides, and torches, and a big bonfire, and strapped on a stick over that bonfire was –

“Hey guys!” Bill squeaked. “Guess what! You’ll never guess! Guess what I am!”

“A roast?” Stanley grunted.

“I’m a sacrifice!”

“You sure are, buddy.”

“Since when did gnomes do any of this?” Stanford asked, incredulously. “You never mentioned this! I interviewed you at least a dozen times!”

“Really?” Stanley turned to look at him. “ _That’s_ what bothers you here? Really?”

“I had a very detailed societal structure mapped in my notes, Ley –“

“I think my hat is on fire,” Bill said, wriggling a little, strung up by discarded jumping rope. He paused. “Smells nice,” he concluded.

A gnome Stanford didn’t recognize stepped forward, coughing into his hand, the tip of his boot dragging a little awkward pattern on the moss. He also had leaves stuck on his hat.

“Hey, so – hello,” the gnome said, and did a little half-wave. “I’m Tom – hey – “

“Hey,” Stanley grunted.

“Hey,” the gnome said again.

“Hey!” Bill called out.

“What happened to Jeff?” Stanford interrupted.

“Well, Jeff is –“ the gnome paused. “Jeff is busy. Jeff is – on vacation – no, Jeff is gone. Yeah. Jeff is no longer, uh, like, part of this group.” The gnome called Tom fiddled with his hands. He had a sort of haunted air around him, but he continued, casually. “I’m the new leader. And, uh – we’re doing sacrifices now, as you can see –“ he gestured at Bill, who struggled like he was trying to wave. “Yeah, and uh – we’ve got this big _fire_ going, and some _drums_ , and we’re going to burn him, and – yeah, this is like a closed event. So. Yeah.”

“That’s cute and all, but _that_ ,” Stanley pointed to Bill, “is ours. We want it back – him, we want him back. So –“ he paused struggling, and then continued diplomatically, “ _Gimme_. Or I’ll punt you across that bonfire.”

“Brief,” Stanford said. “But accurate.”

“Cram it, Shakespeare.”

“Hah, in fact, _brevity_ is the –“

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Stanley said under his breath, and then, “hand over the triangle, half pint!”

Tom the gnome pulled a leaf from his head, turning it in his hands. “I’m afraid we can’t do that – I sort of promised the guys and we did spend a long time getting everything ready. Glory to the gnomes!”

“Glory to the gnomes!” the gnomes chanted in unison.  

“Look at all these _drums_ ,” Bill said, his voice marvelling. “I feel real important.”

“See?” Tom said, spreading his arms. “He gets it.”

Stanford paused, considering their options – but Stanley did no such thing, and stepped forward, picked Tom by his head like a football, and kicked him across the clearing. The gnome landed into the bushes and the crowd around them exploded into indignant shouting. Stanford felt at least five gnomes leap onto him, surprisingly heavy, and he spun wildly, dragging them off, just as Stanley snatched Bill away from the fire.

“Time to skedaddle!” Stanley called out, and yelped when the gnomes clung onto his legs, hopping one-footed towards Stanford whilst shaking them off. Stanford pulled out his gun, and fired at the moss by Stanley’s feet, which burst into flames.

“Gah!” Stanley yelped, as the gnomes backed off hastily. “Watch it, Annie Oakley!”

“Hi guys!” Bill called out, still stuck on his stick. “Have you ever been thrown up by a bird? I have!”                                                                     

Stanford grabbed Stanley’s arm and pushed him back through the bushes.

“What’re you – don’t just stand there!” Tom the gnome called out behind them as Stanford threw himself through the shrubbery. “Get them! Get the sacrifice! Get the science man! Get the one who always cheated us on poker!”

“You cheated those little suckers on poker?” Stanley asked, as he proceeded to untie Bill. “Well, that’s just not _nice_.”

“We should be okay –“ Stanford leaped over a fallen tree and paused to wait for Stanley, changing the charge in his gun to stun. “They’re tenacious – but only as far as their leader is willing to go, and mostly harmless due to their size. We just need to –“

They heard an almighty crack, and a heavy pine tree fell down noisily, just a few feet behind them, sending leaves and sticks flying. They turned to stare back in unison.

It shouldered its way clumsily between the trees, massive arms swinging around – and up close, you could make out the gnomes, all clinging together to form the beast, with Tom the gnome sitting right where the head sat. He was glowering. It towered at least ten feet tall, casting a shade over them, small trees crackling under its feet as it approached.

“Oh god,” Stanford said, and this time he couldn’t help it, it came out like a hiccup. “ _Fascinating_.”

Bill stared at the distinctly triangular shape of the giant gnome cap, his eye very wide. He seemed to come into some kind of a conclusion.

“ _Papa_?”

 “What – _no_!” Stanley said, clutching Bill. “Sixer, come on!”

“Oh, all right, let me just –“ Stanford dug into his pocket. The gnome giant swung his massive arm and grabbed a hold of a tree, pulling it out with the roots. “The smartphone has a camera in it –“

Stanley lunged towards him, grabbing his arm so hard he nearly wrenched it out of its socket as he dragged his brother out of the way, just before a whole tree came sailing towards them. Stanford stumbled and shoved the phone back into his pocket regretfully.  

They didn’t need any more words – Stanley looked at him, and Stanford took off into a different direction. It was better to give the gnomes two targets, and Stanford knew gnomes weren’t the most organized of beings. They could be confused.

“Hey gnomezilla!” Stanley yelled, waving Bill like some kind of a torch. “Here he is! Come and get ‘im!”

“I’m small and crunchy with a side of salsa!” Bill piped up.

The giant gnome weaved its way between the trees towards Stanley, unsteadily, arms outreaching – which was when Stanley took a couple of steps back and flung Bill over to Stanford.

“This way!” Stanford called, catching Bill, who let out a little squeak – he found himself cradling him against his chest, suddenly vividly aware of how small, how fragile, the being he was holding was. The giant gnome turned sharply, about a dozen falling off around its midsection, and Stanford stumbled backwards, trying to focus.

An enormous fist came his way, and he fired, instinctively, before leaping out of the way.

The giant gnome reared back, stunned gnomes dropping onto the forest floor and new ones crawling to take their place, and Stanford landed into a bush, rolled, holding Bill cupped against his body, losing his gun somewhere in the mess.

“Hey!” Stanley called. “Sixer! Over here!”

Stanford panted and dragged himself to his feet, opening his fist to examine Bill, who was clinging onto his thumb, his eye wide and startled, and he felt a pang of something again, irritating and unnecessary.

Hastily, he tucked Bill into his breast pocket, just as the ground trembled, the gnome giant approaching them fast.

“Damnit –“ Stanford muttered, looking wildly around for his gun – and then took off towards Stanley.

“We can’t shake them loose!” he snapped. “In fact – why’re we even doing this? For _him_? This is – this is too much, why’re we – “ he let out a frustrated sound, as Stanley grabbed him, and they skated down a grassy incline. Bill had looked so _terrified_. “Stanley –“

“Because he’s helpless!” Stanley snapped, dragging him forward by his shirt, baring his teeth. “Because he doesn’t have any memories and he doesn’t know what to do! I _killed him_ , Sixer!”

Stanford paused, staring at his brother. Stanley was wheezing, holding onto him, both to steady Stanford and to steady himself. Stanford hadn’t thought that Stanley still had that particular memory.

Above them, the giant gnome elbowed trees out of its way as it appeared.

“There you are!” Tom the gnome crowed, somewhere atop of the monstrosity.

“ _And here’s Mabel_! Shocking twist!”

She stood, like some avenging angel, between the trees at the opposite side, light from the setting sun streaming behind her, a leaf blower hoisted upon her shoulder, beaming down at her grunkles benevolently.

 After a few seconds, Dipper shuffled next to her awkwardly.

“Hi,” he said. “We got kinda worried when you guys took off on your own.”

“Remember this, huh?” Mabel yelled, brandishing the leaf blower threateningly. “Remember last time? Mabel power! You suckers better back off our grunkles right now!”

“You tell ‘em, sweetie!” Stanley called out.

Something was definitely stirring amongst the giant gnome. Individual gnomes seemed to be dropping onto the ground, and scurrying into the undergrowth or to the trees, and Stanford could see that Tom the gnome was getting frustrated.

“Guys! We’re like, _ten_ times bigger than her! We’re gnomes! We will never again be sucked into the tube of darkness!” he pumped his fist. “Glory to the gnomes!”

“Oh yeah?” Mabel called out, gesturing with her leaf blower. “Then how about – _two_ tubes of darkness! Hiyah, double-twist!”

Dipper dragged another leaf blower into the air, holding it up awkwardly. The giant gnome began to worriedly murmur amongst itself.

“I’m like, the leader now!” Tom the gnome whined. “Guys, we can do this! Believe in me! Just get ‘em!”

“ _What the hell is going on here_?”

“I swear, any more people show up and I’m going to start charging ‘em,” Stanley muttered.

A dark figure in a trench coat stood with his hands on his hips. Then it seemed to somehow crumble into itself, as Jeff the gnome hopped down to the ground, followed by six other gnomes, who proceeded to fold the coat up neatly.

“I leave the woods for _one day_ to meet a Grindr date, so I can take her back into the forest to be my queen, and this happens?” Jeff demanded. “Tom, what the hell.”

“I can explain,” Tom said quickly.

“No!” Jeff snapped. “This is not okay! Did you _eat_ my squirrels? Tom, did you eat _my_ squirrels?”

The gnome giant was rapidly diminishing. Tom was being quite literally brought down to earth, as the gnomes scattered away, disappearing in every direction.

“We were just trying out something new,” Tom muttered, squirming. “I was going to replace the squirrels before you got back, Jeff, I swear –“

“Are you still _here_?” Jeff snapped. “I swear, Tom, if I have to look at your face for one more second, I’m going to eat _it_!” He paused. “I keep talking about eating. Maybe I’m snackish.”

“How did your date go?” called out Mabel who’d promptly shifted gears.

Tom, who by now had landed on the moss, turned and scampered into the woods, but not before giving Stanford a sullen glare. He assumed this, whatever it had been, was far from over – and reminded himself to gnome-proof the house when he got back. It mostly involved spreading packets of ketchup all over the place.

“Eh, it was okay,” Jeff shrugged. “She turned out to be twelve lizards in a jumpsuit. What a coinkidink, am I right?” He paused, and then added, confidently. “She’ll text me. I mean they.  They’ll text me.” He looked at his fellow gnomes, and two of them produced a smartphone nearly as big as they were.

“Schmebulock,” one of them said, shrugging his shoulders apologetically.

“Damnit,” Jeff muttered.

“Plenty of lizards in the sea!” Mabel called out.

“Uh, _actually_ –“ Dipper started, and she elbowed him in the ribs.

“Well, that’s that then, I guess,” Stanley grunted, relaxing. “Shame. I was kinda looking forward to fighting that thing.”

“You need to stop punching every monster we meet,” Stanford said.

“How’s the –“ Stanley  glanced up at the twins. “The nugget? You still got ‘im?”

 Stanford hesitated, because Bill hadn’t made a beep in a while, and he hadn’t really bothered to check on him earlier. In fact, he could barely feel the weight in his pocket – he put his hand against his chest, and felt the geometrical lump through the cloth. He pulled at the front pocket, peering in carefully.

Bill’s eye was closed. His small limbs were curled against his body, clutching a leaf he’d picked up somewhere, his hat a little singed. It appeared that he was fast asleep – again.

“He’s sleeping,” Stanford said, not sure what kind of a tone to take. Stanley let out a sigh of relief.

“Let ‘im. Today’s probably been as exciting as far as he can remember, eh?” he said, nudging Stanford.

“As far as he can remember,” Stanford repeated, looking at Stanley, who was grinning crookedly, leaves and pine-needles stuck in his grey hair, looking, as far as the rest of the world was concerned, as carefree as he ever was. He wondered, but couldn’t remember, if Stanley ever had nightmares.

“Hnh. We should probably tell the kids,” Stanley said.

“Is that wise? I mean, they could –“

“Rescue us from feral ankle-biters?”

“They’re _children_ ,” Stanford said, a little frustrated. “Shouldn’t we protect them?”

“Sixer,” Stanley said. “We’re telling ‘em. If there’s something I know, vividly, because I don’t got no extra memories clogging up my noggin, is that those two will snoop out whatever we’re hiding faster than we can say ‘unavoidable disaster.”

Stanford opened his mouth – and then closed it, nodding reluctantly. He didn’t really like this – didn’t like the idea that Bill was back, that the children would have to deal with him again, deal with the memories, the inevitably fallout – but even moreso than that, he didn’t like the idea of them finding it out on their own. No more secrets, if he could help it. (And sometimes he couldn’t.)

“Hey, so, uh,” a voice said somewhere around his ankles. He looked down, to see that Jeff the gnome had inched closer.

“Yes?”

“What’s the deal with the silver vixen over there?” Jeff asked, jerking his thumb at Stanley. “She taken, or like, good to go? She ready to rumble?”

Stanford stared.

“He’s my brother,” he said, finally, and then added, sort of helplessly, resisting the urge to point at his own face, “my _twin_ brother.”

“Aw man. Human genders are _hard_ ,” Jeff said, and then paused. “So that’s like a - soft no?”

Next to him, Stanley preened.

*

Stanford ushered the kids into his old study, Stanley following in his heels, and locked the door. Then he turned, and gestured for Dipper and Mabel to take a seat. She proceeded to climb on the table, while he simply sat on the floor, crossing his legs.  

“This is difficult for me,” he started, gravely, curling his fingers behind his back. He’d spent the whole walk back rehearsing this in his head, carefully going through scenarios to find the right way to ease the kids into the situation. Bluntness, he was painfully aware, was an unfortunate family trait that tended to get them into trouble.

“Hey kids, look what I have!” Stanley said, producing Bill and also coincidentally proving every point ever made about Pineses.

Mabel yelped and wielded her leaf-blower, and Dipper’s voice broke mid-sentence, as he squeaked in horror, jumping up on his feet. “Is that _Bill Ciph_ \- mmf!”

Stanford removed his hand from the boy’s mouth hastily, glaring at Stanley who just shrugged. “Yes, that’s – _Will_. Will is our new amnesiac friend who has no memories pertaining to his past, _nor_ to his identity. None whatsoever.”

Dipper stared at him incredulously. Mabel stared at Bill, who sat on Stanley’s palm, rubbing his eye sleepily.

“Hey kid. I like your hat!” Bill piped up. “What’s on it?” His voice was unmistakably _his_ – but the bright, cheery lilt was devoid of malice, which put Stanford on the edge. Bill wasn’t supposed to be eyeing the world around him like it was some new and shining place, not unless he was hovering sixty feet in the air with a ring of fire around him, about to shake that world like a snow-globe.

“A – pine tree,” Dipper said, warily, glancing at Stanford.

“Huh,” Bill stared up at him, eye wide. “Fits ya! Can I call you that?”  

“No! I – “ Dipper shifted, uncertainly, glancing at Stanford as he pulled back. “This is too _weird_ , he was supposed to be _dead_ , right?”

“Who?” Bill asked, looking around curiously.

“No one you know, Will,” Stanley said, surprisingly calmly, and poked him very gently with the tip of his finger, pushing him over like some kind of a pet. “But I’ve got a biscuit with your name on it.”

“I thought the biscuit’s name was Digestive!”

Mabel, who’d been staring quietly, _finally_ , finally let out a sound like a tea-kettle about to boil over, her eyes very wide. “He’s so _widdle_!”

“Oh no,” Dipper said hastily. “No. Mabel. Mabel no. Mabel, _remember Gideon_.”

“I know, I know!” Mabel said, wringing her hands desperately. “He was widdle _and_ evil! And Bill was the overlord of evil and also a total jerk. But – he’s _so_ widdle, Dipper! He’s teeny tiny!” Her voice lowered into a breathy whisper. “ _With itty bitty hands and feet_.”

Bill accepted a biscuit from Stanley and promptly fell over due to its weight, his little legs kicking out. Mabel squealed, and then clapped her hands over her mouth tightly. Dipper looked horrified.

“Grunkle Ford,” he said, very serious. “You have about fifteen minutes before she’s going to make a very tiny sweater.”

“I’ll knit ‘buttface’ on it,” Mabel said helplessly.

“It’s all right, Mabel - we’re going to perform a ritual to – ah, make him an even _better_ friend,” Stanford said hastily, glancing down at Bill. “Perhaps it’s best to keep him in my study. I can assure you, you have nothing to worry about – this summer can proceed along just as you expected.” He paused, and then added, because the kids were gazing up at him and he felt like he hadn’t done enough. “I’m taking care of this.”  

“But what if –“ Dipper started, and then stopped, his unsaid worry hanging heavy in the air, possibilities as countless as Bill’s horrible ideas lingering, way too suffocating to be properly worded. Bill took a bite out of his biscuit, holding it with both hands, and Mabel pinched her lips together tight and punched herself in the arm.

Stanford made a decision.

“Everything will be all right,” he said.

*

In the end, it was just him and Bill, just like old, bitter times.

And Stanley, but he wasn’t part of the ritual – he’d just refused to leave. Also like old, bitter times.

Stanford dipped the knife in the ink, and drew the last symbol on the blank page of his journal, before setting it on the floor. He turned to Bill, who was sitting on the table – surrounded by candles, his small shadow seemed to twist and squirm unnaturally, but he gazed up at Stanford with earnest emptiness.

He swallowed.

“What’s your name?” Stanford asked, lowly.

“Wall,” Bill answered confidently.

Stanley leaned in, where he was sitting, at the other side of the table, and whispered something to Bill.

“No, it’s Will,” Bill said.

“Correct,” Stanford said, colourlessly, staring at Bill. Bill had been a fixture of his life, both awake and living, for decades. Bill had brought galaxies to their knees. Bill had driven him to near insanity. Bill was endless and undecipherable.

He realized, with a sort of cold start, that he was uncomfortable because he preferred Bill as he truly was. _Terrific_ – inspiring terror.

Stanley was watching him, his eyes unreadable, the lines on his face deeper in the candle-light. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he looked like he could read Stanford’s thoughts.

Stanford held out his hand, palm upturned. “Will, come here.”

Bill stood up, and climbed onto his hand carefully. His hands felt like tiny scratching, as they gripped onto his thumb, and he weighed nothing at all, small and fragile, like a butterfly. Stanford turned and placed him onto the symbols on the book.

“Is it going to hurt him?”

Stanford turned and stared at his brother, but Stanley was looking at Bill, not him, and he was scowling.

“Only if he breaks the rules,” Stanford said, eventually. “Which he won’t do, if he’s the real deal.”

“Right,” Stanley grunted, and then, “is it going to hurt _you_?”  

Stanford fell silent. He could feel Stanley’s gaze on his back.

Bill looked at the symbols he was sitting on. “Terrific,” he said, patting them lightly.

“It’s my responsibility,” Stanford said evenly. “And binding him to a human being will yield safer results, if something goes wrong.”

“ _It’s my responsibility_ ,” Stanley repeated, mocking. “I’m responsible too! I was there! You told me!”

Stanford felt like he couldn’t breathe, all of a sudden. “Yes, but –“

“But what? We summoned Bill together! We did everything together!” Stanley stood up abruptly, his chair scraping the floor. “So now we’re doing this together.”

“I,” Stanford said, swallowing, and then swallowing again, as he forced himself to take a breath – and then he gave in, because what else could he do? “Yes. Fine – _fine_ , you win. Give me your hand then – and no whining afterwards.”

Stanley smirked and held out his hand, which Stanford took, and used the knife to give him a little nick, a drop of blood falling onto the page. He let Stanley stand next to him in the magic circle, first time since the Weirdmageddon, as he read out the incantation, chanted the right words, expressed the right orders. The air turned thick, for a moment, the candles burned too bright and too fast, and Bill glowed as the marks underneath him turned blue. Two drops of blood vanished in a puff of smoke.

For a moment, Stanford was taken aback as he felt the connection between the three of them – like endless, interconnected golden strings, too many of them to count – but he knew that if the time came, they’d wind up tight, and take all three with them.

Neither he, nor Stanley, nor Bill noticed the slight smudges Bill had made on the marks before the incantation.

None of them noticed them when Stanley picked Bill up and tossed him in the air like a penny, or when Stanford told him to stop trying to hide Bill in his sleeve.

The marks glowed bright for a moment longer, before they turned dim, and the whole page crumbled into dust.

 

 

 

 


End file.
